


The Reality of a Ninja

by dinosaurspice



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Fugaku POV, Mikoto POV, Other, based on the first three pages of ITACHI SHINDEN, dialogue lifted straight from the original
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 03:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14323128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurspice/pseuds/dinosaurspice
Summary: Fugaku brings his four-year-old son to a battlefield, expanded slightly.





	The Reality of a Ninja

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this has been done a hundred times, but not by ME. So THERE. I just really want to explore Itachi's parents--all our crazy comes from our parents, right?

It was storming. The sky was black even as the sun rose, and the rain dumped in buckets. And Fugaku had his mind made up. The night before, as the wind howled and rain beat against the roof, he had stayed awake beside Mikoto, tossing and turning with his thoughts. He’d thought about his four-year-old son in the room down the hall, about his future, as he had almost every night since Itachi was born.

Fugaku had the day off today, a short break from his duties as chief of police. The reprieve was long overdue, but tomorrow, he would have to go to the border with a small squadron to guard a supply delivery and support a weakened line of defense until reinforcements arrived. The war had stretched on for so long now that Fugaku almost couldn’t imagine the world ever having peace again, despite the fact that news outlets were constantly reaffirming that the conflict was coming to an end. They’d been saying the same things on an off for two years now. 

Itachi’s generation would have to deal with the consequences, whatever those may be, peace or no peace. In two years, Itachi would join the Academy. He would fight his own battles, see things he’d wish he could unsee, and gradually learn that the world was not, would never be, as safe and as good as everyone wanted to believe it was. If Itachi did not learn that lesson quickly, he would be caught off guard. He would become a victim. He would be killed. 

Every night, Fugaku’s throat tightened when he thought this. He could not let it happen. His son would be strong. It was Fugaku’s duty to secure not just Itachi’s future but also the clan’s future. Itachi had to be strong to survive and to one day lead. So Fugaku would teach him. He wouldn’t irresponsibly let his son be thrown into the shinobi world unprepared. Itachi was still young, but he was remarkably clever—clever enough to understand lessons about the world. And the sooner he learned them, the better. 

So it was that barely after sunrise, Fugaku stepped into Itachi’s room and gently shook him awake. Itachi woke easily and blinked up at Fugaku in the dark. 

“Father?” His little voice cracked sleepily.

“Get dressed,” Fugaku said firmly. “And pack your ninja tools.”

Itachi sat up, curiosity and excitement brimming in his eyes. “Where are we going?”

Fugaku set his jaw. “To the border.”

Itachi was out of bed in an instant; meanwhile, Fugaku went back to his own bedroom. He knelt by Mikoto’s side of the bed and brushed her hair off her face. When she stirred under his palm, he spoke:

“I’m going out with Itachi.”

She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. “Now? Where are you going so early? And in the middle of a storm, no less.”

“To show him a few things,” he responded, intentionally vague.

A huff of air, probably both exasperated and amused, shot from her nose and across Fugaku’s face, and she closed her eyes again. “Will you be back for lunch?”

“I will try.” He took his hand from her hair.

Mikoto covered a yawn with her hand. “All right. Stay safe.”

 

 

 

The rain poured relentlessly, soaking through Fugaku’s clothes. Itachi’s hair, black like Mikoto’s, stuck wetly to his face. It contrasted sharply with the boy’s face, pale both with cold and with horror, and made his dark eyes appear even deeper and blacker than normal. Those same eyes that had shone with trust and joy just a few hours earlier, with Itachi’s enthusiasm to spend a day with his father, were wide with fear.

The earth was charred and stained with blood, and trees and bodies were burnt. Bodies lay everywhere, scattered like leaves in some places and piled into small mountains in others. Many were missing limbs or had deep lacerations in their throats or guts, organs falling out and faces twisted in agony. Flies buzzed all round, a distinctly sharp sound amidst the pounding rain.

The stench was almost more unbearable than the sight. Fugaku would guess that many of these corpses had released their bladders and bowels in their final moments, and the smells of cooked meat and decay hung sickeningly all around

Even without having read the reports, Fugaku could imagine what had happened here. Explosions thundering, dirt and bodies and ash scattering. Weapons and shouts and blood flying. Heat and steam from the collisions of water and fire jutsus rising. Bodies rushing at each other, collapsing, piling up. Fugaku didn’t look at any of their faces; he didn’t want to recognize anyone. He would wait to learn of comrades’ deaths through the reports.

“Remember, this is a battlefield,” he said, cold even to his own ears. “In a few years, you’ll be a ninja, too. This war might end, but the reality of a ninja does not change. This is the world you will step into.”

He saw Itachi’s fist clench and lips press tightly together, but Fugaku didn’t touch him. Nor did he offer any words of comfort. There was no comfort for this situation. This was the truth, and in all its hideousness. When he saw the tears spill from his son’s eyes, he looked away. Itachi was going to be a man; he had to endure.

“Father . . .” Itachi’s small voice trembled. “Why did you bring me here?”

Fugaku paused, considering his words. How could he make Itachi understand? He did not want to oversimplify matters just because Itachi was young; that would defeat the purpose of bringing him here. He inhaled, closing his eyes and grimacing at the sick smell that filled his nose.

“You are a clever boy,” he spoke finally. _So I know you will not misunderstand. You will take this lesson to heart_. “I wanted to make sure you saw this reality.”

“This is the world I will live in . . .” Itachi echoed, sounding suddenly far away.

“That’s right, Itachi. Ninja are creatures that fight. Never forget what you’ve seen here today.”

Fugaku lowered his gaze to Itachi once more, watched him rub his eyes as if to physically push the sight before him into memory. He saw him shaking. Then, Itachi closed his eyes, and his breathing quickened, turned shallow. Fugaku turned toward him, frowning. Was this too much, after all? Would Itachi have a panic attack?

Just as suddenly as the episode had begun, though, it ended. Itachi opened his eyes and pressed a hand to his breast, a deep breath making his chest rise.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but Itachi didn’t answer.

Itachi didn’t say a word the entire way home. Neither did Fugaku. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Itachi; out of the corner of his eye, he could tell Itachi was still shaking like a leaf. A small sliver of his heart wondered if he’d done the right thing, but Fugaku stamped out his doubt. It was already done. Besides, this was war; this was reality, regardless of a person’s age. It was better for Itachi to know that now and walk into this world with open eyes. Itachi could handle it.

When they reached the house, the radio was on, turned up nearly to full blast. Updates about the front line and Konoha’s border blasted through the walls. Mikoto was out of sight, but Fugaku could hear her bumping around upstairs, probably cleaning the bathroom. He felt Itachi tense noticeably beside him; the child rushed past him and up the stairs as if fleeing. Maybe from his father. Fugaku’s heart splintered at the thought.

Rubbing his neck tiredly, he trudged into the living room. As he passed the stairs, he saw the radio perched on the fifth step, placed strategically so that Mikoto could hear it throughout the house. He went to the veranda and sank onto the wooden platform. Although he was still damp from the rain, he couldn’t find the motivation to change his clothes. He preferred to stay outside, watching the koi fish circle each other. His warm home seemed stifling, as if he didn’t belong there. Mikoto would be furious when she found out where he’d taken Itachi. 

 

 

 

Mikoto, kneeling by the tub and scrubbing hard, lifted her head when she heard light, rapid footsteps thump up the stairs. She was glad that the boys were home, though a little embarrassed that she hadn’t noticed them come in. She’d turned the radio up too loud.

She caught the blur of her son racing down the hall, and she immediately stood.

“Itachi?”

He vanished into his room, closing the door gently as he always did.

Mikoto frowned, and worry pinched her heart. This wasn’t like Itachi. Was he upset about something? Removing her cleaning gloves, she padded down the stairs and shut the radio off, replacing it the storage closet by the staircase. The silence that followed seemed to ring in her ears. The air felt heavy, charged. Something was . . . off. 

“Fugaku?” she called, feeling further confused when she didn’t see her husband right away.

As she turned the corner into the living room, she heard him answer: “Out here.”

Cautiously, Mikoto slid open the door to the porch. Fugaku’s posture was sunken, tired, but rigid. He had bad news. That, or he was prepared to argue with her about something. Mikoto raised her chin and stiffened her shoulders, but she kept her voice calm and demure.

“What happened to Itachi?”

Fugaku sighed but didn’t face her. “I took him to the border.”

 Mikoto froze. Her husband’s back seemed to stretch away from her, seemed suddenly shrouded in darkness. When her eyes focused again, she gasped, “What?”

This time, he half turned to her, but his eyes were fixed on the koi pond. That angered Mikoto; she began to shake.

“I wanted him to see,” he stated blandly. “It was for—”

“ _What_?” she repeated tersely. She stomped forward and dropped to her knees, turning Fugaku toward her by his shoulder. “ _Where_ did you take Itachi?”

Fugaku’s jaw hardened. “He is going to be a shinobi, Mikoto. It was time for him to learn about the world he’s going to occupy.”

“Fugaku, he’s our _son_!” Tears were in her eyes now. She wanted to slap him. “He is _four years old_! How could you—” 

A sob choked her, and she clapped a hand to her mouth. Tears squeezed out of her tightly shut eyes. Her other hand gripped Fugaku’s wet shirt.

“I’ve been hearing all day about the battles out there. What if the two of you—how could you think he was _ready_ for that?”

“It is for his own good.” He took her hand from his shirt and tried to open her fist to lace their fingers together, but she snatched her hand away. He sighed harshly. “He will be fine, Mikoto. He understands now what it means to be a ninja. And he will be stronger for it.”

Mikoto hung her head as more tears slid down her cheeks, and she bit her lip until a coppery tang hit her tongue. Her fists clenched in her lap. She felt Fugaku’s palm on one of her hands, and though she remained stiff, she let him bring her knuckles to his lips. Once she found the strength, she slowly raised her head and met Fugaku’s eyes.

“I’m going to our son,” she asserted icily.

With that, she stood and left Fugaku on the veranda. She could feel him watching her, knew that he probably wanted to tell her to leave Itachi alone, but she did not look back. When she reached Itachi’s door, she took a deep breath to collect herself and smoothed her hands on her skirt. She gave him a courtesy knock before cracking the door open.

“Itachi?”

Her first glance into the room showed an empty bed. Instantly worried that he was gone, she stepped into the room but was relieved, and heartbroken, to find Itachi sitting by door with his back to the wall, his head on his knees. He didn’t look at her. Mikoto knelt beside him and placed her hand on his arm, hoping he would turn to her.

“Baby, are you all right?” she asked softly. “Did something happen?”

Itachi curled more tightly into himself and shook his head.

“Itachi, you can talk to me,” she tried. “You’re safe with Mommy.”

He shook his head again, but the movement was different this time. Mikoto thought he was wiping his face on his arms. Then, he dropped his shoulders, wrapping his arms loosely around his belly. His profile was visible to Mikoto now—she was surprised to see no tears on his cheek; however, the telltale flush of recent crying still stained his skin.

“I’m all right,” he rasped.

Mikoto wanted to cry; she wanted to tell him that his father was wrong and that he could trust her, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure what he’d seen out there or what Fugaku had told him, and she didn’t want to make things by making too many assumptions. And she didn’t want to undermine Fugaku as a parent; she didn’t want Itachi to hate his father. She felt helpless.

“I’m all right,” he repeated, louder this time, and picked up his head. “I was just thinking.”

Mikoto stared at him, dumbfounded. “Thinking?”

“Yeah.” He met her eyes now and sent her a smile, wobbly at first but quickly smoothing out. “But I should probably change my clothes.”

Mikoto was lost. This wasn’t right. How could he smile so calmly? When did he grow up so fast? Her intuition told her he was faking it, that her baby needed her, but she didn’t know what to do. Should she play along and let him open up at his own pace, or should she push him to be honest? She didn’t have a clue.

Her lip trembling slightly, she tried to match his smile. “I’ll draw you a hot bath. You don’t want to catch cold.”

It was all she had to offer: a soft place if he needed it. When Itachi nodded, Mikoto rose slowly to her feet and went to the bathroom she’d been cleaning. Her heart felt as though a chunk of it were missing, frozen. Itachi felt so far away all of a sudden. She hoped it wouldn’t last.


End file.
